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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261100">And then, I Met You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Angst, Historical Inaccuracy, Love Confessions, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:01:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Women fluttered their long lashes, fainting and sighing as he charmed his way into their hearts. Established men commended his sharp wit, impressed by his aptitude for words. Well-read and well-bred, at least in the society’s eyes, everyone adored darling Alexander. They’d ask him what he studied and where he studied. And every time, he would let just enough slip that he would be assured the other party’s eyes would glimmer with sympathy. And every time the night ended, something would be better. Be it funds, network, or just reputation. </p>
<p>It wasn’t the sole reason he did it though. It felt like gold to able to, from words alone, tease out their laughter, their sincere pleasures and affections. Tinkling bells were dainty daughters in the racket of university mornings. The firm clap on his back was a father he never knew.  It was undeniably something he lusted for. Belonging. Familiarity. But any scraps he received were but the gifts of transient hands. </p>
<p>Only a few memories, could Alexander say, retained their sheen afterwards. Such was his memory of his first meeting with John Laurens, and the memory was kept an untarnished silver. John, in his memories, was his friend who had so carelessly stolen his heart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton &amp; John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And then, I Met You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="userstuff">
  <p>The pub was dim. Sconces lining the wall and an old chandelier fashioned out of a wheel were its sole source of light. The pebbled glass windows had accrued such a buildup that most of the light was filtered out. The chairs and tables were riddled with gashes and scratches. The few men there looked old and withering, imparting a static if not suffocating atmosphere to the establishment. Only a glance was needed to see the age of the place the place. </p>
  <p>He followed Burr to the bar where two Sam Adams were purchased out of Burr’s pocket. He took the chance to swipe the counter with a finger. He marvelled at the decent layer of dust for a second’s time before remembering propriety. </p>
  <p>Burr coughed. “I know this is not the most well-kept place around, but its patronage reveals its merits.” Alexander wasn’t truly bothered, but he nodded. Burr smiled. He guessed it was relief. </p>
  <p>“Well, let me offer you some free advice.” The following words frankly made his insides squirm, but ready to tolerate it when the pub’s doors burst open, clanging into the walls. In a truly life-changing moment, he and many others turned to the source of disturbance.</p>
  <p>A man with strode in, gold hair bouncing with every step. Two others accompanied him, and a youthful air hovered above them. Left of him was a man with an expression of smug knowing, and right was a man dressed in a well-tailored suit. </p>
  <p>The group spotted Burr and pounced with the ferocity of a lion. Burr was weathered down with torrent of questions and prods. </p>
  <p>Their unshakable belief in their values, however progressive and unconventional made stark his own shortcomings. He talked a mile a minute and not half as articulate as them. His understanding was shallow, his thoughts bereft of insights. His cloths were shabby and outdated. </p>
  <p>He blushed in spite of himself. He stood up to voice his agreement. </p>
  <p>And Laurens? Well, John Laurens grinned and offered Alexander a pint and listened and listened to Alexander talk, talk, and talk. Even if his words flowed about as well as clogged pump. And that somehow led up to Alexander sharing his story with a gathering crowd, each word cementing his conviction. And that was why when his last words were spoken, he sprinted through the clamour to Hercules and Lafayette and Laurens and tackled them with a hug. Inside, a feeling of home welled up.</p>
  <p>The branches were bare at the time Alexander was knocking on John’s door. Hurried footsteps preceded the door opening.</p>
  <p>A servant opened the door, but John was in the foyer too with an abashed look on his face. Out tumbled a confession. “Sorry Alexander, my study is quite a mess right now if you don’t mind, and I may have lost the draft you lent me last time in the mess. I made up for it though. I wrote another essay, a finished one!” </p>
  <p>Alexander debated whether he was mad, merely annoyed, or fond. He decided on merely annoyed with a garnish of fond.</p>
  <p>“It’s alright John,” Relief.  “—but—” Worry. “—you know, I really considered that my best one yet. It’s such a shame it’s currently buried underneath a thousand sheets of paper, and I feel a bit disheartened at its loss. So disheartened that my hands grow weak at the thought of penning another before seeing that one’s completion.” Alexander smirked. He was being petty at this point and both of them knew it. </p>
  <p>John sighed as well, but gave in regardless. “Fine. Fine. I’ll find it, alright? I’ll dive into the sea of inked paper and fish out the single page you’re looking for no matter how long it takes.”</p>
  <p>And feeling a bit bad, Alexander conceded, “I’ll help, John. You take half and I take half. It shouldn’t take long if we both work at it.” </p>
  <p>By then, they were at the study. John opened the door to the mess in question. Alexander was familiar with the nigh untouchable mess Laurens called a study. But, the dishevelled mistress of a library that day with her robes of paper strewn everywhere was worse than he had ever seen.</p>
  <p>“If you want to, start with that pile,” said John pointing at a small pile of books and paper beside the bookshelves.</p>
  <p>After an hour or so of losing his attention to different papers and their contents, something sparked recognition.  </p>
  <p>Alexander said as he began waving the paper, “Hey John, wasn’t this poem the one you said you finished? This one’s-“. He was cut off by John who snatched the paper out of Alexander’s grasp before he could read the first verse. Alexander stared at his friend’s violent behaviour, an idea clicked in his head. </p>
  <p>“John, John,” he said smugly, “your original letter of a poem was already so endearing and adoring. Could it be that this time, the always gentlemanly you dipped your feet into something stylistically more l-e-w-d?” His teasing only served to redden John’s face. John wouldn’t budge, so Alexander let it go. For a moment, he wondered if it was meant for him, but he ceased the line of thought. They had only kissed once a month ago when they were both drunk. It had been memorable for him, and he couldn’t help wonder if it had been less memorable for John. </p>
  <p>Another hour later with Alexander’s draft in hand, they began to edit and revise their writing. </p>
  <p>Alexander would read his writings. “…so I must ask of you, ‘Is that what you see in our nation’s future?’”</p>
  <p>And John would offer revisions. “No. Change ‘Is that what you see’ and try to sound like you believe people have a modicum of sensibility. Your last piece was scathing. Be gentler Alexander. They can’t see beyond their noses. It’s not their fault they’re ignorant”</p>
  <p>And Alexander would offer a retort. “How do you expect me to hold any sympathy for those scrubs in charge? God bless the poor souls that work under them.” But he would make the change anyway. And so on and so on. </p>
  <p>An afternoon of work and a meal later, they were back at the table. Alexander was the desk writing, hand only leaving the paper to dip his pen. In his peripherals, John was sunk in an armchair with a stack of his past essays, leafing through them curiously. </p>
  <p>John spoke suddenly, “Do you really plan on publishing all these?” </p>
  <p>Alexander replied, “Of course I am. What use are these papers if they’re gathering dust in my drawers?” immediately as he crossed out a line he had written.</p>
  <p>John thought for a moment and said, “I think that your papers might be too good Alexander. So good that you might rouse the frenzy of the Loyalists. You would paint a bright target.”</p>
  <p>“And it affects every other like me including you. Change is coming regardless of what I say, and people already know I say more than a wiser man would advise. Besides, I don’t have anything to lose other than potential.” </p>
  <p>John was quiet for a bit. “Alexander…” John’s voice trailed away softly. </p>
  <p>Noticing John’s odd behaviour, Alexander set down his pen. “What plagues your mind now?” The silence stretched, making him itch to drill his fingers on the desk. He resisted however, and asked again. </p>
  <p>This time, John replied “Nothing. You’re right of course, but I can’t help harbour worries for the war we know is coming. You act infallible Alexander. But we are men, and men have faults.”</p>
  <p>“I think myself infallible? Perhaps against ignoble governors and the sort, but I’ve always kept my mind open to those that don’t start conversation with the intention of undermining my words. You of all people should know that.” By then, Alexander’s fingers were drumming on the table without his notice. John’s eyes were downcast, and gave an air of despondence great enough to prompt Alexander’s concern. He ended up seated on the floor in front of John. </p>
  <p>Sensing John wouldn’t talk without his initiative, he questioned, “So what is it really?”</p>
  <p>“A boy I was close with in my childhood… was in an accident and has now passed away. I— I was riding to the town whence he came from, and I was the one who found him. I doubt it was truly an accident though given his propensity for opinions and the bad character of those he surrounded himself with. I suppose that has reined my arrogance back somewhat.”</p>
  <p>Ah, death. Alexander thought to himself. John was right. He did act as if he were infallible, and it was not wrong to say he sometimes forgets his mortality. But that was not to say mortality lingered in the back of his mind and came crashing into the forefront of his mind like those breaking waves of Nevis on lonely nights. It was not that he forgot that death came to everyone. Not when he still see his mother and cousin and the flies, the bugs. And that smell of rot in the hot air sticking to his skin. And they were too dead to pretend otherwise. It was just that those were moments buried in his years worth now, and sometimes those many years could displace the bad hours for awhile. </p>
  <p>“John, I tend to say more words than most would think wise. Unlike you or most anyone really. Exactly as you said—”</p>
  <p>John chuckled. “Humility? From Alexander?” Alexander tsked and caught John’s wrist and along with it, his attention.</p>
  <p>Making sure he had John’s eye contact, he tried to convey his assurances, “Listen, John. As I was saying, I am all too aware of death. And I know you are no stranger to death, so you know as well as I do that it is always there in the back of the head. However, every proclamation I make, I make with my heart on my sleeve. I know the line between opinion and agitating a revolt is fine. I know when I put myself on the line, I put yours and everyone like yours there with me. But John, let me tell you this. I will not die before you and I have skin like parchment and hair like snow.  I retreat less than I should and the same is true of you. You will pull me back and I will you. Just as Lafayette and Hercules would do for our sake should the need arise. Now have I alleviated any of that burden on your shoulders?”</p>
  <p>“I would not know. Your hands on my wrists are throwing off my train of thought.”</p>
  <p>Gradually, a smile broke out on Alexander’s face that was mirrored in John’s. </p>
  <p>“Evidently,” Alexander said removing his hands, “I have wronged you greatly.”</p>
  <p>“I’m afraid your words do not stir my sympathies. Not forgiven,” declared John. Then, he said, “get back to your writing, and I’ll get back to my reading.”</p>
  <p>It was when his mind stalled in consideration of the exact words he desired to express that he felt his a hand remove the pen from his hand. </p>
  <p>“John?”</p>
  <p>“Alexander, your writing is fast entering the realm of incomprehensible. I think it best we retire now.”</p>
  <p>“I can read it.” He meant to say he could rewrite it for others’ eyes later, but it was a bit tiring to vocalize it.</p>
  <p>“Alexander. Get up. I’m taking your papers away since you’re evidently too tired to fight me for them.” At those words, Alexander made a half-hearted swipe at the numerous sheets John had stolen from him. He stood and shoved the chair in. </p>
  <p>“I see now  in your words what great wisdom you hold.” Then, more determinedly snatching back his papers, he sat down again. “I must remind you I remain in control of my faculties despite any lack of sleep.” He took up the pen and started writing again. Behind him, John sighed.</p>
  <p>“My counsel is unneeded it appears. Well, you know who to call if you need anything for the night?” </p>
  <p>Alexander turned around on his seat. “Yes, yes. I would rather call you and see you stumbling about in a half-waken state, so I advise you keep your wits about you when you are inevitably awaken tonight.”</p>
  <p>“Good night then, Alexander.”</p>
  <p>“Good night John,” he replied and watched John disappear behind the study’s doors before he began the arduous process of revision. </p>
  <p>The sunlight in his face was punctuated with chirps of the birds outside the estate. He was still at the desk. Underneath his head was the paper from last light. The pen was lost. Most likely it was wherever he dropped it. The door creaked open. Feeling too stuporous to acknowledge the servant or whoever it was, he continued resting his head hoping for the fog in his mind to clear. The panes of sunlight casted on the desk were pleasantly bright to observe as he felt his lucidity return slowly. </p>
  <p>“I see you’re awake now,” came John’s voice above him. Shall I call for the servants to bring breakfast up? And before you ask, no, you have not indulged in sleep. It is only seven, and I daresay you’ve woken too early for how late you must have stayed up.”</p>
  <p>Alexander mumbled an agreement, and pulled himself up. As he did so, the blanket which he had not noticed draped over him, fell off, exposing him to the cool autumnal air for the fire in the room had not yet been stoked. </p>
  <p>The bell ring had brought a servant up quickly, and Alexander watched John converse with him. John had been awake to be dressed in a pink that became the gold of his hair. John, unlike many, acted not unkindly to them out of willful ignorance, but due to an active pursuit to treat each human as they ought to be treated. John’s residence never engaged with slaves with his intervention, only taking employed servants as well. It pleased him to see others happy as it pleased Alexander to see John’s kindness. It was why he was sure John would always be more good than he would. Growing up for a want of everything and having almost nothing but his mind and cunning meant he easily acted contrary to his ideals if it would advantage his goals. </p>
  <p>John smiling questioningly, returned to his side. Alexander averted his gaze. John had noticed Alexander’s gaze had dwelled on his back too long. The morning sun illuminated John, making his blue eyes sparkle and hair glow. Unthinkingly, Alexander reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind John’s ears. After a moment or two, Alexander realized his actions upon seeing the pink hue of John’s face. His cheeks soon grew warm as well. </p>
  <p>“Anyway,” John cleared his throat, “you should clean yourself up after breakfast. Yes. Um— yes. Good morning I forgot to say earlier. I need to go check on breakfast. I mean, I do not because I said we’ll have it here—“</p>
  <p>“John,” Alexander interrupted, “I think the kitchens are in dire need of your supervision. I should not keep you from such an important task. I can tend to myself very well.”</p>
  <p>John who was more often the less eloquent of the two, nodded and left the room. His words were nonsense, but Alexander dearly needed the time to gather his thoughts. He was awake, that was certain, but his clarity had certainly left him. </p>
  <p>After the door closed, he slowly lowered his head into his hands. Moments like these had become too common recently, and Alexander was more or less certain what sort of affection he felt towards John. However, he was woefully incapable of putting his charm on with John. He wished he could be dishonest to John to make him admit his feelings, but he valued the honesty between them almost equally so. At that moment, his thoughts stormed inside his mind. </p>
  <p>When John finally came back, they were both more collected even if Alexander knew it was half an act on his part. Soon came the breakfast which they ate in relative silence. They were both perfectly comfortable in being uncomfortable. As it carried on after he cleaned himself up and he decided to take a walk to refresh himself. The breeze that was picking up provided a chorus of dry autumn leaves. The sun was soon setting in front of him, setting itself into the hilly landscape, burning the clouds and sky a pink resisted by the autumn grey. He had been feeling a mixture of feelings he could not identify until now because the beauty of the scene in juxtaposition to his inner state had coalesced all those emotions into miserableness, and upon knowing the name of what he felt, he felt it absolutely necessary to be rid of it. There, he watched the sun’s last rays disappear in the horizon, casting the scenery in dusk. </p>
  <p>He was set to return the following day to New York as the new university term would begin soon after. He was in the library reading, when John came running in. </p>
  <p>“Alexander!” John exclaimed. On seeing the person in question, he set his hands on his knees, breathing hard. </p>
  <p>“What in God’s name are you in such a rush for John?” Alexander asked setting down the book he had been perusing. </p>
  <p>John lifted his head. Alexander saw the messy hair and redness in skin that came from exercise. Did something bad occur?</p>
  <p>Then in one great burst, John said, “Alexander, I hold in my heart, great respect for your character, so I’ll be honest in my words and intent. Be it your likeness, your habits, your company, your anything. Everything.” in too fast a tempo. Alexander wondered if it was a dream he was experiencing, but he had too much confidence in his ears and mind to call it a trick of the mind. </p>
  <p>John then said at a much more intelligible speed, “I am yours, Alexander.” The quiet made even even these soft words loud as thunder, and Alexander certainly felt struck by lightning. </p>
  <p>It took what felt like minutes of silence, but only seconds before John sought to speak again. “I’m sorry—“</p>
  <p>“No,” Alexander cut him off. The silence ringed on a few more moments as Alexander finally responded with startling clear heart and mind, “I too. I feel the exact same way for you.” He hoped John understood what he meant. He was at lost for the right words to convey what he meant, and these came the closest. </p>
  <p>John, surprisingly, after his bold speech, was the one who could not bear the atmosphere and sought to escape the unbearable tension. It was a good thing then that Alexander had grasped his wrist just like the night before.</p>
  <p>After that night, he had to leave. And though he had worried of the distance, he found that lifting this weight off his heart had left him in good cheer even when it came time to say goodbye. It was behind and empty street corner back in New York where he stole John's first kiss. And it was despite the dangers that he was happiest with John. After the war started the distance between them only grew. And kept growing that distance did when John started talking and pushing Hamilton to marriage. But even so, when he received news of the war ending, his elation sought company in John first and foremost.</p>
  <p>But no reply came. </p>
  <p>And in those months, when he had almost forgotten, he received the letter. On one crisp autumn morning, a letter that did declare John Laurens dead arrived in his hands. Trembling, his head swung low.</p>
  <p>He needed a moment. There were too many dead already. He just needed a moment to gather himself.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, I will end this with the fact that I am quite proud of a) my word count - high word counts have always evaded me, and b) my writing - I feel I have done well using an older tone with long, breaching incomprehesble-on-the-first-read territory sentences. However, I must note I feel parts are uninspired as I couldn’t be bothered to do more research. I was writing this in was inspired by much better researched and well-written historical fics out there like <em>The Song of Alexander</em> by <a href="/users/CiceroProFacto/pseuds/CiceroProFacto/">CiceroProFacto</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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